


As Good as His Word

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hale Family Feels, Headcanon, POV Derek, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4711166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Derek wanted to get into his sister’s Camaro and drive it off the nearest cliff. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Good as His Word

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed for me by the lovely BelleAmante, and inspired by The Gaslight Anthem's Dark Places.

Derek wanted to get into his sister’s Camaro and drive it off the nearest cliff.

He wanted to. But he wouldn’t. He already knew that—however much he wanted it, however long he sat behind the wheel looking over the trail to the outcropping—he wouldn’t, no matter how much the familiar hollowness of loss pulled at him.

He couldn’t. He’d promised.

He remembered that day and that promise like it was etched into his skull, written on his bones. In the years right after the fire, he’d pulled away from everyone and everything. Shrinking inside himself, he’d hoped that if he did it right, did it _enough_ , he could disappear. He stopped leaving the apartment for anything but school, stopped trying to be social, stopped eating anything Laura hadn’t shoved in front of him, quit caring if he slept.

When Laura realized he’d been forcing himself not to shift, she’d used her power as the Alpha on him for the first time. She demanded answers. But he’d spent so long saying nothing—nothing real, anyway—that he just. His mouth had opened and closed, but the words didn’t break free from the tangled lump they’d made in his throat.

Derek didn’t know how long he’d stood there choking around syllables so ugly they’d rather kill him than be dragged into the light of day, but finally his sister had hauled him into a hug, just wrapped him up in the warmth and protection she’d always offered him. He’d drawn in one juddering breath against the crook of her neck, smelling her skin and hair and worry, and when he let it out, everything else came with it. Tears. Apologies. The truth about the fire, about why they lost everyone. About Kate.

Laura had held him so tightly she left bruises, and when the only thing Derek had left was stuttering apologies and guilt, she’d eased him back. Cupping his teary, blotchy face in her short-fingered hands, she’d let red colour her irises as she told him it wasn’t his fault. That she loved him. That she didn’t blame him, and that the rest of their family didn’t, either.

And when Derek just looked at her, feeling hopelessly broken and lost and wanting desperately to believe that what she’d said was true, she’d spoken the words that still echoed in his head, years later. “Derek, you have to promise me that no matter what happens, you won’t give up. That you’ll keep trying, keep living—because if you give up, Kate wins. And that is a victory she does not fucking deserve.”

He’d promised.

It hadn’t been an easy one to keep, but he’d done it. He’d started talking to people again, had made sure to eat and sleep, had worked out with Laura until they were both ready to drop, werewolf stamina be damned. With Laura there every step of the way—to encourage him and yell at him and kick his ass sparring and, the one time, to royally kick his ass Alpha-to-errant-beta style—he’d been able to keep his promise.

But she was gone now, and he didn’t know how he was going to keep it anymore. He just knew that he would. Somehow. She’d want him to.

Despite his determination to keep his word, Derek was grateful for the scream of his tired muscles, for the painful drag of the wolfsbane rope against his palms and in his lungs as he circled Laura’s grave. As he made sure that at least one of his family members was properly laid to rest. The radiating ache of the wolfsbane was easier than thinking about how alone he was now, about the way the Hales were going extinct.

And when the job was done, Derek couldn’t help but look at the freshly-turned earth and wish for . . . something. Some way to make it up to her. Some way to mark her grave so that everyone would know who she was, some way to explain exactly how incredible she’d been—determined and stubborn as all hell, bitchy in the mornings, in love with bad horror movies and comfortable jeans, the way she threw herself into things that mattered to her, and a thousand other little things that had made her real. Derek wanted people to _know_ , and the fact that he didn’t have any way to tell them squeezed the breath from his lungs. He stood there, trying to compose something—a eulogy, a prayer, what he’d put on a headstone if he could risk giving her one—but the resounding silence in his head mocked him.

Finally, Derek couldn’t stand there anymore, covered in dirt, choking on wolfsbane and despair. He had a promise to keep, and he couldn’t do that keeping vigil over the dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so . . . this is the first TW fic I've posted, though not the first I've written (that sucker is still in the works), so if you could find it in your heart to be kind and leave me some feedback, I would really appreciate it!


End file.
